


Teambuilding

by MlleMusketeer



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alien Biology, Implied Sexual Content, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgy, Walking In On Someone, implied mechpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which neither Director Mearing, nor Lennox, nor Epps, nor the human contingent of NEST is paid enough to deal with this slag.</p><p>Alternatively, in which Optimus has a very good morning indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Director, don’t go in there, sir!”

“Director, just wait—”

“Get out of my way!”

“Sir, allow me to explain—” 

“Move!”

In other words, a typical first morning back for Director Mearing. Ignoring everyone, assuming nothing had changed, and shoving her way through the United States’s finest—and right now, most nervous—as if they were a rowdy crowd at a concert. As Epps had once remarked, maybe they should just aim her at Megatron and the war would be over by dinner. 

Lennox trailed after her, trying to shout a suitably expurgated explanation over everyone’s heads as respectfully as possible.

And was completely ignored. Director Mearing had decided she would see Optimus Prime this morning. For Director Mearing, this had no applicable difference from her _seeing_ Optimus Prime that morning. She had decided it. It had, to all intents and purposes, already happened. 

Lennox kept trying, even when they were well past the crowd. The thought of what would happen if the Director opened that door she was reaching for was plainly and utterly unthinkable. He and Epps made eye contact and broke into a run. “Sir, you don’t want to go in there!”

Too late. All they managed to do was get an eyeful of the sight that had managed to stop Mearing dead in her tracks. 

_Jesus_. They’d gotten creative this morning. They had to be using a few of the anti-grav units just to _hold_ him at that angle. 

Optimus was, of course, present. Lennox hoped this would placate Mearing. Stranger things had happened. Like how Optimus could manage to look so _dignified_ with his mouth that… uh, full. 

Mearing stepped back. Mearing closed the door, and turned around and sat down abruptly with her back to it, eyes wide behind her glasses. 

On the other side of the door, the rhythmic clanging _everyone_ seemed to mistake for construction noise started up again. And was interrupted by the warble of Ratchet’s sirens, presumably as Optimus swallowed what was in his mouth—

— _Jesus_. Lennox felt like he needed two years of church and a gallon of bleach applied directly to the brain. Sex was one thing. Sex and robots was fine too—Ironhide had told him enough dirty jokes to last a Cybertronian lifetime. 

Sex and Optimus Prime were two concepts that shouldn’t exist in the same sentence. Or the same brain.

“Please tell me,” said Mearing, “that we did not just walk in on an alien orgy.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Epps. “I can’t do that. It’d be lying to a superior officer.”

Mearing took off her glasses and scrubbed a hand over her eyes, then rose. “Right. Then I hope they’re using protection.”

Lennox coughed, found a wall panel to stare at. “No, sir.”

Mearing looked horrified again. “Tell me they have some kind of birth control. Or that they don’t reproduce. _Do_ they reproduce?”

“That’s kind of the point, sir,” said Epps. “They’re trying to get Optimus pregnant.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” said Mearing, the staunchest atheist Lennox had ever met, and sounded like she meant it. “So we’re going to have to deal with Optimus Prime’s child now?”

“Er, _children_ , sir,” said Lennox. “They’re trying for about four hundred.”

Mearing stared at him. Then, “My office. Apparently there have been developments in my absence.”

* * *

“And then Ratchet pointed out that Optimus had the greatest, ah, carrying capacity of any of them,” said Lennox. “And that with his recent resurrection, was in the best physical condition, with Ironhide a close second. They didn’t want to take _both_ of our heavy hitters out of action at the same time, so Optimus volunteered to go first.”

Mearing pinched the bridge of her nose. “So you’re telling me that all our robots got baby-brain at the same time. How long will Optimus be out of action?”

“Not long. They lay these…egg things. They’re those blue glowing things hanging from the ceiling in the Cybertronian quarters.”

“I thought those were lamps.”

“So did I, sir. Word of advice, don’t call them eggs. Ratchet’ll get very upset.” Lennox winced at the memory. “After Optimus made that decision, he had Ratchet muck around in his coding and let him go into heat, which means—”

Mearing raised a hand. “My mother bred cats,” she said. “I know what heat is. How much yowling can we expect?”

“As long as we leave them alone for about three hours each morning? Not much,” said Epps. “Otherwise, yes, 30 foot metal cat.”

Mearing buried her face in her hands. “I need a raise.”

“Yes, sir,” said Lennox. Outside, the clanging intensified. He wondered briefly if that was still Ironhide. “I think we all do.”


	2. Chapter 2

Epps loved Star Trek. Epps had been inflicting Star Trek—especially the corny old series—on Lennox for the last several months. 

At least, reflected Lennox, it gave him a cultural reference for what was going on in front of him. 

“Tribbles,” he said, glumly. “Metal tribbles.”

“Nah,” said Epps. “They don’t hate Decepticons. Not actually tribbles.”

Lennox groaned. There’d been a Decepticon raid a few days ago. Or an attempt at a raid. The horde of sparklings had tried to bum food off the Decepticons, and even Megatron had turned tail and fled in the face of the seething, hopefully chirping, and above all, _clinging_ mass. 

“Besides, can you imagine Director Mearing with one of them on her head?”

“I saw her with one on her head,” said Lennox. “How long do we have to put up with them?”

“Optimus said the next two hundred years,” said Epps, and looked out over what should have been a functional runway. That morning’s daycare escape had resulted in it being significantly less functional. The cheeping was deafening. So were the clangs as playfights broke out across the asphalt. Given the size of some of them, human wrangling was out of the question. Better to wait for the bots to get their shit together. 

“I can’t believe there’re only eight hundred,” said Lennox. “And yeah, I never thought I’d say that sentence, either. Ironhide is so proud, it’s _disgusting_.”

“Sideswipe,” said Epps. “Be glad you don’t have to deal with Sideswipe. He tries to pick out which ones are his. Also, don’t start me on Optimus. At least you’ve _had_ a kid, you know what to do.”

“Believe me, no,” said Lennox. “Annabelle doesn’t _try to eat airplanes_.”

“Oh look, the calvary’s arrived,” said Epps, as Ironhide, Sideswipe, and Ratchet appeared at the far end of the runway, and started herding the sparklings back toward the broken side of the ‘daycare’ hangar. Given the contortions the adult Cybertronians were performing to get the kids where they belonged, Lennox felt completely justified in his decision not to get involved.

Footsteps behind them, and both men turned to look at Director Mearing. “Am I going to get my runway back at all today?” she demanded. “We’ve had to divert three planes because of this nonsense. That’s three too many.”

Lennox and Epps shared a look. “How would you suggest we proceed, sir?” asked Epps. “I thought it was policy to keep human engagement to a minimum, for safety concerns.”

Mearing huffed. “Go get Optimus instead of watching the rodeo,” she said. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Haven’t seen him all day, sir,” said Lennox. 

“The other Autobots are on their way,” said Epps. 

“I’ll find Optimus,” said Mearing, then stopped mid-gesture and stared as Ironhide executed a more than usually clumsy grab, missing the sparkling in question entirely. “Remind me why they thought this was a good idea?”

“Repopulation of the species, sir,” said Lennox. 

“That was a rhetorical question,” said Mearing. “At least they keep the Decepticons away.” She looked down the runway. “About time. Optimus!”

Optimus, still in alt mode, wended his way through the seethe of his offspring and up to them, and transformed in a ripple of metal. He smelt strongly of fresh wax, and gleamed more than anyone surrounded by babies of any species had a right to. He was also smiling. 

_Uh oh_ , said some small part of Lennox. 

“Director Mearing, I have good news,” he said.

“That you’re going to get your kids off my runway?” said Mearing. “That’s the only good news I’m interested in hearing today.”

“Shortly,” said Optimus, and that smile stayed. The _uh oh_ in Lennox’s head got louder. “I have negotiated a peace treaty with the Decepticons. We did not realize that they, too, have offspring, and Megatron has at last placed the survival of our species before his own satisfaction.”

Mearing’s lips moved. Lennox hoped that Optimus had missed it, because he was pretty sure she’d just said _oh shit_. 

“No treaty of this sort has previously been negotiated,” said Optimus. “In light of the enormity of this possibility, I would strongly advise you to accept these conditions. This could indeed be a permanent resolution for Cybertronian conflict on Earth. I believe them to be well within our capablities to provide, and this will represent only a minor strategic concession. I believe it to be highly unlikely that, once this treaty is signed, the Decepticons will renege on the agreement. In short, this is the best option we are likely to have.”

Mearing pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is it.”

“Megatron has about twenty sparklings, which he would like to bring here, to ensure they receive the proper nutrients and resources.”

The humans contemplated that. The fact it was the sparklings that occasioned more dread than Megatron was slightly unnerving. 

“Additionally, between them, the Decepticon high command is expecting another six hundred.”


End file.
